


Property of the Game

by AvoidingAverage



Series: Stucky AUs [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Never Met, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Steve Rogers, Bottom Steve Rogers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not Captain America: The First Avenger Compliant, OTP Feels, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Sexual Tension, Shrunkyclunks, Top Bucky Barnes, Whump, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, cap!steve - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-10-19 19:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20662166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvoidingAverage/pseuds/AvoidingAverage
Summary: Steve and Bucky were kidnapped and forced compete as partners in a series of challenges as part of an underground competition that forces mutants and metahumans to risk their lives trying to survive the tasks created to entertain their wealthy audiences.The only way to survive is to win.OR, The modern Hunger Games spin off you didn't know you needed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of completing another WIP or my contribution to the Stucky Big Bang, I decided to release this little plot bunny that's been bouncing around my head for a while. The premise is based on a book I read a LONG time ago about an underground fight/challenge game that pitched criminals against one another for the amusement of wealthy subscribers. 
> 
> And I thought, why not make it about mutants and some sweet, OTP lovin?
> 
> There will be tags added as we go and I intend to add some smut along the way. Hopefully you like what I have planned!

“That’s the second one in a month--they’re getting more confident.”

Sam’s voice was a somber reflection of the sight before them. 

The body was stretched across the top of the dumpster trash like it had been tossed there without a second thought. Eyes that were once a soft shade of brown stared sightlessly up at the overcast skies with a face still twisted in pain. A dark slash across his throat had been cleaned enough that there was little doubt that this was not the place where the man had died. It was violently garish against the clean blue scrubs he was still dressed in.

“Xavier’s School identified him as one of their own. Tyler Atticka, age 24--they have him registered as a telepath, but Charles says he wasn’t high functioning,” Steve rattled off, his eyes scanning over the picture of a bright eyed boy laughing with his peers on his phone. Not for the first time, he wished he had more than just a string of bodies to help him track down the murderer responsible for this.

In the six months since the first body was found--a female meta human with increased reflexes--New York had fallen into the panicked fervor of a city with a killer in their midst. He supposed the only good news for them was that it was only mutants and meta humans being targeted. It was easy to overlook a section of the population that people already feared--he’d already heard enough people dismissing the attacks as good fortune in the war against violent super humans.

The bodies and disappearances didn’t work in any sort of pattern that they could discern. Some victims remained missing for weeks before turning up dead--others lasted just a few days. All of them were killed in different ways and with different weapons. Some had been stabbed like Tyler, others suffered from blunt trauma or even gunshot wounds, and two had been poisoned via a small injection from an unknown source. None of them offered more than the amount of evidence needed to identify them.

The only good news was that the consistency of the attacks had eventually led to SHIELD being called in along with Steve. Captain America was not anyone’s first choice for solving a murder mystery, but, after Project Insight, he needed to lay low. SHIELD was still busy trying to root out the corruption left behind by Hydra and they didn’t need a wounded supersoldier hovering. It hadn’t taken much to convince him to pack up Sam and return to Brooklyn--just the promise that he could avoid a desk job and a mandatory suspension.

“No signs of abuse aside from the slice across his neck,” the short, older man in a coroner’s uniform intoned. His hands carefully shifted the body to check the back for any bruising or additional injuries. “He was well fed and appears to have been cleaned after the attack that ended his life. There are minor injuries to his hands that are indicative of potential defensive wounds, but they’re at least a week old.”

“How long was he missing for, Sam?” Steve asked.

“Two weeks.”

So the injuries occurred after he was taken, but not in the initial attack. More bread crumbs leading to nowhere.

“And the tattoo? Does he have one?”

The coroner’s mouth went flat with distaste when he pulled down the neck of the scrub top to reveal the carefully inked message just beneath the hairline.

_Property of The Game_

Sam hissed out a breath and glared at the alleyway full of police and crime scene techs. “How do we still have no leads with this case? Even Natasha hasn’t dug anything up.”

“Don’t say that too loudly,” Steve said with a weak attempt at humor, “She may take her temper out on you.”

The fact remained that none of their resources had been able to recover anything more than the identities of the victims. There was no sign of foul play at any of their homes and most of them weren’t even reported missing until days after their disappearances. Natasha and Clint had even contacted their sources around town to see if any of the underground knew anything about the mysterious Game or where people were being taken to without any luck. Even Tony and Jarvis hadn’t been able to find any footage of the kidnappings or the bodies being dumped. Somehow, the events always occurred just out of sight of security cameras.

The rumors of videos circulating the internet featuring the missing mutants appeared to be just that, more heresay.

Whoever selected these victims were targeting mutants and meta humans isolated enough that no one noticed they were gone until it was too late. Steve knew without looking that Tyler Atticka was most likely an orphan and a loner after his time in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youth. It had been his landlord that reported him gone two days ago after she noticed that he hadn’t picked up his mail in two weeks. The apartment was neat and tidy as if Tyler had just stepped out for a moment and never returned.

More bodies meant whatever this ‘Game’ was, the people behind it were looking to expand. They were starting to scout out stronger contenders among the mutant population judging from the latest victims. Victims that had been dumped just blocks away from Steve’s apartment. 

The fact itched under his skin like acid.

He _needed_ answers. Answers that no one seemed to have.

Steve toyed with the zipper of his leather jacket and stared at the body without seeing. For the first time since D.C., he wished for his shield--for the type of enemy that could be vanquished through a good old fashioned fight. He wasn’t meant for this kind of subtlety. Not since the ice. 

Not since the war began again.

Something must have shown on his face because Sam’s did that complicated twist of pity and understanding that drove Steve somewhere between frustration and relief. The other man reached out to clap a hand against his shoulder.

“Get some sleep, Steve,” he murmured, “you won’t be able to help anyone if you run yourself into the ground.”

Steve grunted, trying not to think about the weight of his exhaustion bearing down on him. In the weeks since he’d first been brought on to the case, Steve’s insomnia had only gotten worse. He spent most of his nights pacing around his empty apartment and most of the days running around the city searching out weaker and weaker leads. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d chosen to sleep instead of merely collapsing on his couch for a few hours.

“Fury wants answers. We _need_ answers.”

“You won’t get answers if you run yourself to the ground, Steve.” Sam’s face was stubborn, entirely focused on his friend’s waning mental health. A few months ago, Steve might have protested on principle, but the image of two many too-still bodies remained burned in his mind, sapping his strength. “Go home--we’ll tell you if something new comes up.”

Steve hesitated again, but Sam and the coroner both sent him looks that warned him he was risking another mandatory psych eval if continued to push himself. Grumbling a little, he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his bangs out of his face. The movement pulled at the still sore muscles left behind by the gunshot wounds from the helicarrier. A reminder that he’d also failed to secure--

He didn’t want to think about the Winter Soldier right now.

“Fine,” he said instead, “but call me if anything new comes up.”

“Of course. Do you want me to get you a ride back?” Sam asked, gesturing toward the cops milling around and directing curious bystanders away from the alley.

“Nah, the walk will probably help clear my head.”

Sam nodded and gave him a gentle push. “Get out of here then, Superman. I don’t want to see you for at least twenty four hours.”

“Yes sir,” Steve saluted before he pivoted and paced back down the alley towards the street, thoughts shifting to the documents he had waiting for him at home.

He never made it.

___________________________________________

Consciousness trickled in slowly, painfully. 

His head was throbbing and his body was aching in a way that experience told him meant he’d been manhandled roughly or been brawling. Whatever bruises had been left behind were probably long gone, but his muscles hadn’t forgotten their discomfort yet.

Steve took a deep breath, frowning when his memory couldn’t produce an explanation for his injuries or the unfamiliar scent of cleaning supplies and old blood.

He’d been walking back to his apartment, he remembered. Sam had stayed behind at the crime scene. Steve had paused long enough to get a cup of boiling hot coffee from one of the street vendors a couple blocks away from his home to try to wash the lingering sensation of death from his skin. Then he’d turned down one of the alleys that had been around even in his childhood and--

A sharp sting to the back of his neck.

Strong hands gripping arms suddenly going loose and pliant.

Darkness enclosing him with the bag shoved over his head.

Forcing his eyes open at the memory, Steve winced at the bright lights above him and had to blink away the black spots that danced around his vision. Beneath him, he could feel the familiar thin mattress of a standard issue cot and the scratchy sheets that graced more than one hospital bed. The air smelled sharp with cleaning products and the stale scent that came with the lack of a fresh breeze or window.

He looked around carefully at the all white walls--seriously, why did all villains have to use white in their prison cells--and the large metal door cemented into them. Even from this distance, he could tell it had been designed with someone with his enhancements in mind. Steve slowly rolled onto his side and let the momentum pull him upright. A soft, almost imperceptible whirring sound made him frown and look more closely at the wall and ceilings before he finally spotted the small hole cut into them.

Cameras.

Steve sneered at the thought of someone observing him here, mind already full of ways to exact his revenge. Sam used to tease him about the way he held grudges against anyone who was stupid enough to cross him, but he had a feeling it might come in handy soon. Better to think about vengeance than the slight itch at the back of his neck that indicated a much darker reality.

Carefully he stood, waiting out the wobbliness in his legs until he could get to the door and examine it more closely. There was no sign of any control panel on this side--the cell didn’t even have a light switch--nor were there any hinges or bolts for him to attempt to pry off. He growled, running his fingers over the scarred metal and the long, thin gouges along the edges. It wasn’t until he stepped back to look it over once more that he realized what they were.

Scratches. Someone had been desperate enough to attempt to claw their way out of a steel door to escape this room.

Panic began to seep in despite his efforts to remain calm. If he was captured by the very organization he was hunting, there would be no trail for his friends to follow. No evidence that would point them in his direction and send the Avengers rushing in with their usual fanfare.

He was trapped.

Chest heaving, Steve slammed his fists against the door, relishing the groan of metal and the ungodly noise. He hit it again and again until the white noise in his brain was competing with the pain in his hands and wrists. 

“_Let me out!_” he roared furiously, backing up to ram his shoulder into the heavy metal.

“Easy there, pal. I don’t think dislocating your shoulder is going to help in the long run.” A gravelly voice from behind him made Steve freeze and whirl around in surprise.

There, sitting calmly on the other side of a glass divider sat an eerily familiar figure who’d featured in more than one of Steve’s nightmares since the fall of SHIELD and Hydra. His black tac suit was missing in favor of the white scrub pants and top that Steve also wore though it did nothing to hide the thick muscles and violence lingering beneath. Dark hair hung in waves around his face, escaping from a loose bun at the base of his neck that framed icy blue eyes.

A face he hadn’t seen since he’d fallen through the air and into the Hudson.

The Winter Soldier.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers and James Barnes meet once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited about this chapter and what I have planned next. It's a lot longer than the first chapter so enjoy the extra content.

The first time Steve saw the Winter Soldier, he was shaking glass from a broken windshield out of his hair and the ringing in his ears from being flung into a city bus.

The last was from the deck of a crashing helicarrier with the weight of his shield and the bullets in his body dragging him down.

_“Don’t make me do this,” Steve whispered, staring at the dead eyed man at the end of the maintenance walkway._

_The Winter Soldier remained still, chest rising and falling as easily as if he were sleeping instead of preparing to fight to the death._

_Maybe it was like sleeping to him. _

_Steve tried not to think about the thick folder Natasha had produced after the fight on the highway. The pictures alone had kept him awake and sick to his stomach for days. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the smiling face of James Buchanon Barnes in his sharply pressed uniform with his cap tilted just so. He had been the type of man Steve would have desperately wanted to be, would have desperately wanted to know. The knowledge of what Hydra had done to that smirking, handsome young man with dreams in his eyes haunted him._

_He hadn’t wanted to go to war, but he hadn’t fought the draft when it inevitably called him in. Steve could imagine the way he must have kissed his family--his mother and two little sisters--and set out, trying to be brave like so many other boys sent off to battle. The military records showed that Barnes had been a good soldier, a solid leader, who’d been loved by his unit. The unit Steve had stolen from him._

_Like Steve, the twist had come in the horrors of Azzano. Only, instead of ending in triumph and new position leading the charge against Hydra, Barnes had been left behind in the nightmare Zola had created. _

_And it was all Steve’s fault._

_Because Steve had made the decision to chase after the scientist, to accept the word of the soldiers who’d told him no one had survived the labs, and ended up leaving Barnes to be tortured and abused for decades._

_It could have been him. That’s the worst part maybe. That Steve’s so damned grateful that Hydra never found the plane in the Arctic because they were already content with the supersoldier they’d tortured and experimented into existence._

_It makes him hesitate with movements that had been trained into his very muscles and bones. His punches were just slow enough to be blocked. His kicks skating past their marks and barely keeping the flash of metal and gunpowder at bay. If the Winter Soldier noticed the difference in Steve, he seemed content to brutally rip down Steve’s defenses like Steve had returned to the back alley brawls he’d lost as a kid._

_Then there was nothing left but to stare up into slate grey eyes as the world burned around them and wait for the drop._

“What are you doing here?” 

The question was hoarse, rough as the day he’d awakened in a hospital room with Sam by his side and no idea why he was still breathing.

The Winter Soldier’s lips twisted into a self-depreciating smile that made Steve think about sinking his teeth into that full lower lip until he could erase whatever hurt made those shadows in his eyes. When he spoke, it was a low rumble that sent a pleasant thrum through Steve’s body that he tried and failed to ignore.

“They dragged me in just like you I imagine,” the man replied, but something about the way his eyes darted away from Steve made him think that there was more to the story.

Steve nodded anyway and returned his attention to the room, searching for some weakness he’d missed. There were no windows to shatter or use for some hint to where they were. No decorations or clues left carelessly in the bare cell. Only the cot, a small bathroom, and a long plexiglass wall that separated the Soldier from the Captain.

“Do you know what they want with us?” Steve asked after a long pause. He could feel the weight of those eyes following the path of his restless pacing.

The Soldier nodded at the camera mounted in the corner of the room. “They’re holding us here between rounds. I think they want you to replace my last partner.”

“Rounds? Rounds of what?” A nervous flutter twisted in his gut as a dark thought took root there.

“They call it a game, but it’s more like an endless round of tests,” the Soldier explained. “There doesn’t seem to be a rhythm to win, but every few days they’ll pull us from our cells and force us to compete in some sort of challenge. Whoever fails or comes in last place...is eliminated.”

Steve scrubbed a hand through his hair, sending the blonde strands into a spiky halo around his head. “How many people do they have imprisoned here?” he asked, then frowned as he processed what the Soldier had said. “Wait--what happened to your last partner?”

“He tried to remove the chip they imbed in each of our necks,” Barnes said and pulled down the collar of his shirt to show the thin scar running along his spine. “They use them to track us--and potentially kill you if you don’t comply. Any tampering with the chip results in immediate ‘disqualification.’”

The explanation had the feeling of something that had been recited many times and Steve was left wondering the same question that had been haunting him for weeks--just who was behind the Game?

And how had they gotten away with so much already?

At least the chip explained how and why all the victims had been relatively unharmed aside from their manner of death. Whoever was running this sadistic game was keeping the mutants and meta humans under control through a well-planned system designed to keep them helpless and without hope of escape until they finally failed to perform.

“I don’t understand--what’s the point of all this?” Steve growled. “Why risk kidnapping and dumping bodies with SHIELD and every other alphabet agency hunting them down?”

The Soldier gave a tired sounding laugh that held no humor. “And how was that hunt going for you, Captain? Looks like you’ve got a hell of a lead.”

“Don’t call me that.” Somehow the title in the other man’s mouth felt like a wound he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

“Why not?” the Soldier pressed, “It’s your name, isn’t it? It’s why they brought you here.” Abruptly the brunette stood and prowled across the room to lean against the glass separating them. “They want to see what two supersoldiers are capable of.”

“So what? We fight each other to the death then?” Steve asked. “Again?”

The other man shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. They would’ve kept us seperated longer--the reveal would be more dramatic.”

“You say that like we’re on some kind of television show.”

“We are.” Steve looked up sharply and both men flicked their eyes over to the camera in the corner and the tiny, blinking red dot. “Everything we do is recorded and sent out to their ‘subscribers.’ If you want to live, you have to keep the viewers happy.”

“The viewers? How is that possible?”

“When we’re in the challenges, you’ll see. They have a drone that the Gamemaster uses to communicate with us and to record the action without risking any of their people. The only people we are able to interact with are other competitors--all of whom are just as likely to kill you as help you.”

A grim sort of understanding settled like a weight in his gut. He thought about the reality competitions that Natasha and Clint liked to watch on their downtime in the Tower. The shows had seemed like harmless fun--a way for the audience to feel like their opinions mattered in how the competition played out. 

It appeared this Game was a more deadly version of that trend.

Steve sucked in a deep breath and tried to focus on the fight at hand instead of the itch between his shoulder blades that told him he was being watched. He had a feeling that wouldn’t go away any time soon.

“So what do we do now?” he asked.

The Soldier shrugged. “Try to get some rest, Captain. You’ll need it.”

With that ominous warning, he turned on his heel and flopped onto his cot with his back turned to Steve. Steve watched him for a long moment before he sighed and sat down on his bunk, resting his head in his hands.

He didn’t sleep for a long, long time and, judging by the uneven breath on the other side of the wall, neither did the Soldier.  
______________________________________________________

“The Challenge will begin in five minutes. Please make your way to the exit.”

The pleasant feminine voice jarred Steve awake and he opened his eyes to find the Winter Soldier looking equally worried. For a moment, their eyes met. 

Like mirror images, they slowly got to their feet. Shoulders back, spine straight and teeth bared, they watched the door in the wall slowly open to reveal an empty corridor beyond. Two soldiers preparing themselves for the battle they knew was coming. The wall between them slid into the floor with a soft sound and, for the first time, there was nothing separating the two men.

Steve stared at the man who’d nearly killed him in Washington, D.C. and saw the knowledge that this might end in one of their deaths once again. Despite that, he couldn’t help but feel grateful to have the silent competence and easy grace that surrounded the Soldier on his side even temporarily. 

A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Natasha cursed him for a fool. The Winter Soldier was a Hydra operative--by choice or not. There was no reason for him to risk helping Captain America in this madness. All of the information he’d given the day before could have been lies for all Steve knew. It could all be some kind of trick to get him to lower his guard long enough for the Soldier to slide a knife between Steve’s ribs. 

Pressing his lips into a firm line, Steve turned away from the other man and prowled into the hallway without protest. He was used to fighting alone and right now, that seemed to be the best way to ensure that he would be able to walk away. 

That was the only way to ensure that the murdered and kidnapped victims would see justice.

As soon as he stepped through the door into the hallway, there was a sudden snap and he whirled to see the door seal shut behind him once more, leaving him trapped in the narrow space. He spun on his heel and slammed his fists into the metal, trying and failing to find a way to pry it open once more. Distantly, he could hear the Soldier doing the same from the other side.

There was a soft hissing sound and Steve turned in time to see the first swirls of white gas slowly pumping into the hallway. It hovered like a malignant cloud around his ankles and he didn’t need to smell the sticky sweet scent to know he didn’t want to breathe it in. He pulled up his shirt over his nose as a makeshift mask and tried to force open the door again. When that didn’t work, he turned and scanned the dimly lit hallway for some other clue.

The gas was up to his thighs now and he could already feel the beginnings of exhaustion tempting him into relaxation. 

Stubbornly, Steve ran to the other end of the hallway and slammed on the plexiglass door there. He could see vaguely humanoid shapes on the other side through the foggy pane, moving back and forth as though they weren’t a few feet away from someone being held against their will. 

“Hey!” he shouted angrily, “Let me out of here!”

None of them even paused in their movements and he growled in frustration, slamming his palms against the wall once more. 

His head felt fuzzy and numb and his normal grace was lacking as he shoved his shoulder against the door to try to force it open once more. His feet slipped oddly against the smooth tile and he stumbled, falling to his knees in the midst of the gas. 

For a long time, he tried to hold his breath. Tried to roll back to his feet and stay awake for as long as he could. 

He failed.  
_______________________________________________________

Steve opened his eyes to pure darkness.

Instantly, his mind went back to the moment just before the ice had closed over his head. The last seconds where he wished for the first time that Erskine’s formula hadn’t worked if only to keep him from the agony of a body that continued to fight for life, for breath, even after a normal human would have stopped. 

He thought about the cruel irony of gasping for air through healthy lungs when he could have just suffocated in some tuberculosis ward somewhere without all the struggling. His arms twitched restlessly at his sides, still fighting even when the mind that controlled them was spiraling.

“No no no no no no, please God. _No_,” Steve whispered fervently. “Not again, I can’t. _I can’t, please--_”

There was a voice shouting in his ear and for a brief second he wondered if the radio had managed to keep survive the crash into the ice. Even the relief of hearing another voice in his ear at the end wasn’t enough to chase away the panic.

He gasped, struggling to move, but his arms were pinned to his sides and he could feel the weight of the ice pressing down on his chest. 

Can’t breathe. _Can’tbreathecan’tbreathecan’tbreathe_

“--on, Captain,” a rough voice begged. Not Peggy, his fractured mind provided. “You gotta breathe for me, pal. You’re okay. I promise, you’re gonna be okay.”

It continued on for an unknown amount of time. Long enough for Steve to feel the breeze on his face and the cool metal on his wrists and realize that he wasn’t in the plane. That the Valkyrie had been found years before and, against all odds, he had survived it. It took him a long time to realized that the voice was coming from a small microphone, similar to what he’d worn on missions, in his ear.

He took a shaky breath and tried not to think about the dampness on his cheeks in favor of figuring out where he was and what was happening. The sensation of metal at his wrists and across his chest was confirmed when he gave an experimental shift only to hear it groan in protest before it held firm against even his advanced strength. His arms were tied behind his back around what felt like a metal rod to keep him in place. There was a blindfold tied securely around his eyes, ensuring he remained blind and helpless to what was going on around him.

“You back with me, Captain?” the voice--the Soldier, he finally realized--sounded worried.

Steve licked his dry lips and took another breath, counting his heartbeat to try to calm himself. “My--” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat before trying again, “my name is Steve. Steve Rogers.”

The Soldier made a rough noise and Steve realized he was laughing under his breath. The thought warmed something in his chest. 

“‘Course it is, Rogers. Everyone knows your name.” There is a thread of bitterness in that gravelly voice and Steve wished desperately for a way to bring back the brief moment of warmth.

“And you’re James Buchanon Barnes.” He was babbling now, trying to keep from thinking about where he was and what it meant was about to happen.

There was a pause.

Then the Soldier sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and oddly vulnerable for a man capable of killing anyone with barely any effort. “Bucky,” he whispered. “You can call me Bucky.”

Steve smiled beneath the blindfold, something delicate and raw blooming between them.

“Bucky, then.” He opened his mouth to say something more, but was cut off by the sound of a loud, mechanical voice from somewhere nearby.

“Welcome contenders, to your first challenge!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: the first challenge!
> 
> Let me know what you think and thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The First Challenge

Steve’s head turned in the direction of the voice as he struggled for any kind of clue as to what was going on around him. The blindfold left him feeling painfully vulnerable in the face of what he knew would be a life or death situation. In his ear, he could hear the sound of Bucky also reacting to the announcer’s voice and he wondered if he was also restrained and blinded for this.

“Welcome viewers to another installment of the Game!” The announcer’s voice prattled on cheerfully even as Steve stiffened in shock and surprise. Viewers? People had been actually been watching their victims die? Bucky was silent in his ear aside from a small intake of breath as the announcer continued.

“Today we have a special treat for our viewers at home, but first! Let’s introduce our teams!” The man’s voice paused as though listening to applause that only he could hear. “Heading into their fourth challenge, let’s hear it for the lovely Belladonna and her partner Hemlock!”

Steve’s head tilted in the direction of a woman’s breathy chuckle and the sound of a kiss blown in the direction of the announcer. He frowned, equal parts disgusted and horrified at the thought that the other contestants might be playing to whatever sick group had designed this scheme.

“To their left, we see the return of Styx and Acheron, fresh from their win in the Pit!”

This time there was no sound of laughter or playful gestures. The announcer laughed like they’d told a joke and continued on to the next group. “Our last returning team is, of course, a crowd favorite--Tempest and Vice!”

Steve flinched when a roar of heat flared wildly enough that he felt a trickle of sweat roll down his spine. In his ear, Bucky gave a low whistle of appreciation for the display of power. Not for the first time, Steve raged at the blindfold that kept him blind and vulnerable in such a dangerous position. He had no way of knowing what was happening around him unless Bucky chose to warn him.

The announcer’s voice moved closer and Steve decided that the lack of footsteps must mean the man’s voice was being projected from something. His guess was rewarded with the soft sound of a motor running over the sound of the wind.

“And, last but not least, we have our newest team. You already know them from the news, now you’ll get to test their mettle yourselves--give it up for the Captain and the Soldier!” Again, the man paused and Steve bared his teeth in the direction of his voice. Steve’s temper flared wildly at the idea of being someone’s sick entertainment, but he had little choice with his hands tied and his world limited to what little information he could gather without sight.

“In this challenge, our new teams will be forced to work together to complete a simple obstacle course,” he continued and chuckled like he was discussing a playful sporting event. “But, of course, we couldn’t make it _too_ easy for them.”

The wind buffeted Steve a little more strongly now and he turned his head blindly from side to side to try to sense what was happening. In his ear, Bucky growled out a curse and Steve felt a bolt of alarm.

“What is it?” he asked the other man urgently. “What’s going on--”

“As you can see, our contestants have been partnered up for the next series of challenges. Their partners can be their greatest strength or their worst weakness. But be warned viewers--if one of the team members fails, they both do!”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Steve could feel his adrenaline beginning to pulse beneath his skin and he fidgeted with his restraints irritably. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the sounds of someone else pulling against the metal holding them in place and guessed that meant the other ‘teams’ were similarly bound. 

The announcer seemed oblivious to their struggles. “When the buzzer sounds, the blindfolded team member will begin to move across the obstacle course using the instructions from their partner. Their partner must verbally direct them along the path using nothing but their voice until they reach the finish line. If either contestant attempts to remove their blindfold, they will be disqualified and immediately dropped from the competition.”

A cold chill trickled down Steve’s spine at the threat implied there. He thought of the bodies left behind in silent alleys and forgotten dumpsters with a sudden understanding. 

“If the blindfolded team member steps off the course, well-” The announcer paused to snicker into the microphone as though it were some joke, “-let’s just say they won’t make it back for round two.”

Beside Steve, he heard someone sob raggedly under their breath and he turned his head towards them. If there were other victims here, he needed to ensure that they were safe for the time being.

“Are you alright?” he whispered fervently only to gasp as a sharp bolt of electricity crackled through his limbs. 

For a moment, all of his joints seized up so violently he could feel his vision threatening to white out. Air rushed out of his lungs in a sharp gasp that was too close to the asthma of his past. His jaw ached from where it clenched down and distantly he was grateful he hadn’t bitten off his tongue in the sudden attack. The shock must have lasted only a few seconds but by the end of it he was gasping for air and hanging more heavily against his restraints while his blood pounded in his ears.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the announcer tsked like an annoyed parent, “there is no talking among contestants.”

Steve sucked in a lungful of air, trying to glare at the source of his antagonist’s voice. “Fuck you.”

“Oooo, sounds like we’ve got a feisty one here, folks! But will that be enough to keep him alive?”

There was a pause like the voice was listening to some unheard response. Then he laughed again.

“I think our guest deserves a little punishment for being such a bad sport, don’t you? Why don’t we see what our lovely Captain can do with his hands bound?”

Steve rolled his shoulders against the cuffs and gritted his teeth. He opened his mouth to protest or to curse the announcer, but Bucky’s voice in his ear made him pause. “Shut up, Rogers,” he growled. “This will be hard enough without you picking a fight with everything breathing.”

Steve flushed angrily, but forced himself to remain silent. Despite what Sam and Natasha--and really anyone who knew him--claimed, he knew how to pick his battles. Even if it drove him slightly insane, he was mostly helpless against what was happening to him by design of whatever sick mind thought up this ‘competition’. He wouldn’t be able to escape or free any of the other contestants if he got himself killed first. For now, he needed to lay low.

“For this challenge, your new partners will be the difference between life and death for each of you. If you fail to complete the course, you will be disqualified. If you attempt to escape, you will be disqualified. And, of course, if you are the last to complete your objective...you will immediately be removed from the Game.”

Any thought that they might manage to survive this round without killing another victim died a quick death.

Horror and helpless fury burned in his chest at the thought of what lay before him. If he let himself lose, the chip in his neck would ensure he would die before he even got a chance to fight back. Hell, they might just use the electricity in the cuffs to slowly fry him from the inside out. If he died, no one would ever learn the truth about what was happening to the missing mutants and metahumans. It could be years before anyone managed to stop these kidnappings and sick games.

And Bucky would be killed along with him.

On the other hand, success and survival would mean playing along with the people responsible for countless deaths--deaths Steve might even cause by the end of their challenges. 

Before he could continue to spiral, the sound of a repetitive tone rang out over the sound of the wind and shifting of contestants. A woman’s voice calmly began a countdown that had Steve’s heart thundering in an adrenaline-fueled rhythm.

“Five.”

“Bucky,” Steve muttered, “what are our odds?”

“Four.”

“...Just focus on my voice, Rogers. Don’t worry about the odds.”

“Three.”

The announcer was still chattering to the audience. “--Don’t forget to place your bets on your favorite teams! Winner’s will receive their payouts by the end of the day.”

“Two.”

Steve’s focus narrowed to the sound of the wind roaring in his ears and the sharp cold of it biting into his cheeks and tugging at his clothes. He took a deep, steadying breath and tried to let his enhanced senses interpret all the information his eyes could not. The hints from the announcer along with the buffeting air made him nearly convinced that the course was set high above the ground--high enough to kill even an enhanced human. That meant he needed to push aside the distractions in his mind and around him to get to the other side as quickly as possible. He had a feeling the other teams might not be so hesitant to see a rival killed.

“One.”

The pole at his back retreated into the ground in a smooth motion and Steve was abruptly able to step forward again. The sneakers they’d given him to replace the shoes he’d been wearing when he was kidnapped were thin enough that he could feel the smooth surface of the building below him. Before he could second guess the decision, Steve shuffled one foot forward until he felt the edge of the ground disappear into terrifying nothingness.

“Alright, soldier,” Bucky said in a tone that made Steve instantly straighten. Apparently even seventy years in the ice couldn’t erase the training he’d had in the war. “Move directly forward four steps.”

Steve took a breath and forced himself to move away from the safety of the ledge. It gave way to a narrow walkway that was barely the width of Steve’s shoulders and wobbled alarmingly when he shifted his weight. Without the shelter of the building, the wind buffeted him in erratic bursts that made him wish desperately to free his hands.

“You’re doing good, Steve. Just another step and you’re to the first turn.”

He let Bucky’s voice anchor him as he navigated the first turn and tried not to think about how fast the other teams might be moving or what would happen if he fell. Bucky kept up a steady stream of chatter in his ear that helped drown out the now-hated voice of the announcer moving around him.

The first time he felt the edge of the narrow path with the edge of his foot was maddening. He wanted to rip the blindfold off and use his hands. He wanted to hurl his shield with all his might into the stupid, vapid announcer’s face and hunt down all of the sadist who were watching them suffer. Helplessness was not a good look on him and he could feel the rage that always lingered in his bones simmer to the surface until his teeth were bared and his lungs seemed to breath in only breathe in malice.

The only thing that kept him sane was the deep, drawling voice in his ears, dripping the accent of a time long past and a city that had grown up without him. It should go against everything in him to trust the Winter Soldier with his life. It certainly went against all the lectures and worried rants he’d received after he’d woken up in the hospital in the Potomac. The Winter Soldier was his enemy. A loyal member of Hydra.

And yet…

Steve took another step forward and felt the walkway tremble violently, forcing him to brace his legs to try to balance. With his arms pinned, there was little he could do if he truly stumbled. The path vibrated and shuddered making Steve’s muscles lock instinctively.

“What’s happening?” he rasped.

Bucky paused for a long moment before he returned with new intensity. “Alright, pal, I need you to start moving faster, yeah? You need to keep moving forward. That’s it. Don’t stop.”

The worry laced in his voice hit Steve like a cattle prod and began moving at a faster clip, hoping that his enhanced reflexes would be enough to save him if something happened. Something shot past his ear and he flinched. 

Somewhere to his left he heard the announcer give a shout of excitement. “Narrow miss by the Captain! I guess he’ll learn the hard way why this competition isn't for the faint of heart!”

Another object clipped his shoulder and he hissed out a breath of pain even before he felt the familiar warmth of blood trickling down his arm. 

“What the fuck was that?” he growled at Bucky, concentrating on turning forty five degrees before straightening on the path once more. “It didn’t feel like a bullet.”

“It looks like one of the other mutants is shooting projectiles. I can’t reach her without losing sight of you--you’re going to have to get here before she can land another.”

Ahead, he heard a feminine sound of triumph muffled by the sound of someone crying out in pain that faded in the unmistakable pattern of someone falling. He turned in the direction of the sound, heart sinking when he heard the announcer cheer.

“Oh no! It looks like our first team has been eliminated! I have to say, folks, I really thought Vice would do better with this challenge. Hope you didn’t bet too much on them!”

Horror flooded Steve’s mouth with bile and he resisted the urge to retch. Another mutant dead--dropped to the ground like they meant nothing and mourned only by the psychopaths that lost their money on them.

“Focus, Steve,” Bucky said quietly, “you’re almost here. Just a little longer and this shit show can be over.”

He had stopped moving, he realized then. Frozen in place like if he held his breath long enough the stranger who’d just died would call out that it was a mistake, that they were still alive. Steve took in a breath and pushed his right foot forward in a sliding step that he’d adopted over the last ten yards. He wasn’t sure how long the course was, but he felt like he’d prayed to every god he could think of that it would end quickly.

Another cheer and--

“Our first team has crossed the finish line! Congratulations to Belladonna and Hemlock and their generous benefactors!”

Steve’s heart thundered in his chest. If he didn’t reach the finish line before the other team would they be killed like Vice? Could he live with himself if the other team was murdered instead?

“_Steve, get down!_”

The command was so sharp and unexpected, Steve found himself dropping to the ground without a second thought. He hit the walkway awkwardly with one shoulder leaning out into the open air and his legs scrabbling for purchase even as he felt the air above him move in the path of yet another projectile. Bucky was still shouting something in his ears, but he couldn’t think past the panic as he felt himself slipping towards the open air and the death waiting there. He wrapped his legs around the thin walkway and clung to it until he was sure he wouldn’t slip off.

It took every ounce of strength in his legs to clamp down around the walkway and slowly twist away from the edge. His injured shoulder was throbbing angrily from where he’d landed on it and he could feel his blood dripping onto the platform, making it even more slippery. He could feel the muscles in his shoulders trembling and he felt a wave of dizziness. The cut should have healed by now, he thought blearily. Had he been poisoned?”

“--gotta, move, sweetheart. Come on, Stevie. Don’t give up on me.”

Steve shook his head to try to chase away the lingering weakness. His breath was too ragged to respond to Bucky, but he found himself doggedly forcing his legs back under him until he was fully onto the platform. Another sharp blast of pain in his thigh told him he was still being shot at, but he ignored the sting and the burning sensation spreading from it to lever himself into a crouch.

Slowly, feeling each second like a death knell, he levered himself back to his feet until he was once again standing on the walkway.

Sweat trickled down his back as he lumbered forward, Bucky’s voice in his ear acting like a lodestone. His legs were numb now and the numbness in his arm was beginning to spread to his chest, making every breath an effort. He couldn’t feel the walkway beneath his feet and, judging from the anxious curses that spilled out of Bucky’s mouth, he had come close to falling off more than once.

“Almost there, Steve. You’re so close. Just keep moving, pal.”

He took another four steps before Bucky signalled him to stop. Steve’s head hung low, tilted toward his feet in exhaustion. The sounds of the other competitors had long since faded and he’d decided he could care less about what lies the announcer was spouting now. He could hear Bucky’s voice now in his ear and somewhere in front of him and he felt a surge of hope that he might have finally reached the end of the course.

“Steve, listen to me, sweetheart,” Bucky said.

Steve frowned at the endearment and tilted his head up toward the other man.

“You’re going to have to jump the rest of the way.”

The words were spoken in a flat, no-nonsense way, but Steve couldn’t seem to focus on them. Jump? How could he jump without being able to see where he was going? His legs were barely able to keep him upright as it was.

“It’s only about five feet from where you’re standing--I know you can make it, pal. You’ve just gotta trust me,” Bucky soothed and Steve could hear the distraction in his voice. “The other team is almost to the end of the course so you’ve got to move fast, okay? I know you can do this, Steve. I saw you running with that friend of yours in D.C. all the time--Sam, right?”

“Wh--” Steve licked his lips, trying to focus beyond the overwhelming urge to just lay down and sleep. “Why were you watching me run?”

There was a smile in Bucky’s voice when he answered, despite the stress of the situation. “Would you believe me if I said it was for reconnaissance?”

“No.” Steve’s lips twitched into a smile even as his foot touch the edge of the walkway and he prepared to jump.

“Then I’ll admit that whoever buys your shirts is doing the Lord’s work.”

The dry delivery made Steve snort out a breathless little laugh, feeling flushed and uncertain in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries. He took a breath and backed up a step to give himself a running start.

Right before he jumped, Steve smirked in Bucky’s direction. “I buy them myself.”

Then he leapt.

Time seemed to go still in the way it had the moment he turned the Valkyrie's nose toward the ice. A balance tilting in a new direction as the strands of fate retwisted into a new pattern.

Steve leapt and felt the cold air around him be replaced by strong arms that caught his weight with a grunt and tore the blindfold off his face in the next second. He winced at the light, blinking up into slate grey eyes that were bright with some strange mixture of pride and excitement. There was a smile twisting his full lips and Steve found himself matching it.

“Not bad, Rogers,” Bucky murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this action-packed chapter as well as the flirting I couldn't help but add. I told myself Steve and Bucky would be a little more slow burn, but they took this chapter and ran with it. 
> 
> Let me know what you think and thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to come about--unfortunately I had to put this project on the back burner while I was finishing up my Stucky BigBang story and finishing up A Broken Soldier. The next chapters will be a lot of action so buckle up and get ready for some pining and angst!

Without the blindfold, the world was a confusing wash of overcast skies and glittering metal. 

It looked like they were on top of a massive building near enough to another for the narrow walkways of the challenge to connect them. His throat went a little dry at the twisting path that he’d managed to navigate thanks to the man who was still supporting his weight like it was nothing. Bucky’s heartbeat was steady against his ear and it was far too tempting to remain within this moment of false security.

The sound of a small motor chased away the brief moment of peace and Steve narrowed his eyes at the drones that moved around them like flies. He knew from listening to Tony when he was designing Sam’s new suit and Redwing that drones could be used for all manner of things, but this was his first time seeing them used like this. They twisted in the air in a complicated pattern that he didn’t understand until he noticed the cameras mounted below their small engines.

They were filming them.

Muscles tensing despite the lingering ache from his injuries, Steve glared at the cameras and leaned forward so he could shakily get to his feet. If there was one thing Steve Rogers understood, it was how much weakness could be used against him. Bucky’s hand remained low on his back in a subtle gesture of support that Steve tried not to think about. 

Upright, he could see the speakers anchored in temporary holds against quickly erected mounts strategically placed around the makeshift arena. Armed guards remained poised around the edges, out of sight from the cameras but not the competitors. He shifted slightly to scan the other people standing on the final platform curiously.

Closest to him, he watched two dark-haired women grin at one another in triumph as the announcer continued to rave over the triumph of Hemlock and Belladonna. Easy enough to connect the names with the way the two winked at the cameras and sneered at Bucky and Steve when they caught the looking. The taller of the two casually ran one hand over her wrist to draw attention to the brown  _ spike _ that seemed to be growing out of the bone there.

He stared, suddenly understanding the cut along his shoulder and thigh. Already he could feel the itch beneath his skin and the cold sweat down his back that signaled the serum working to combat the poison that must have been another aspect of her mutation. Belladonna and Hemlock indeed.

“Nasty pieces of work,” Bucky muttered at his side, turning a flat stare toward the women. 

The sound of a man’s ragged cry of grief distracted both of them from their opponents and Steve turned in time to see a man drop to his knees at the edge of the platform. His eyes were fixed to the empty space between the buildings where the competitions had taken place. Instinctively, Steve started to move toward him but Bucky pulled him back.

“Don’t. Not if you don’t want another shock.”

“What happened to him?” Steve pressed, eyes darting around in time to see the other pair of contestants’ smiles suddenly turn grim. “Where is--”

A sudden realization cut off his question before he could complete it. 

The cut off cry when he was staggering across the walkway. The sound of the announcer’s gleeful cheer.

Oh  _ god _ , the other contestant hadn’t made it across.

“--impressive turnout for this week’s challenge and, ladies and gentleman, I hope you’ve enjoyed the show! Don’t forget to submit your fees to receive the information for our next broadcast!”

The announcer’s voice sounded painfully cheerful against the sight of the defeated contender left broken and alone on the platform. Only Bucky’s grip on his arm kept Steve from crossing the distance himself. 

They both tensed when the soldiers waiting at the edges of the playing field moved closer, their guns trained on the contestants. Begrudgingly, Steve followed Bucky’s lead and placed his hands on his head, lowering to his knees when directed. Bucky’s face went carefully blank in the way that felt eerily similar to the way the Winter Soldier had been on the highway. Only once did those slate grey eyes look at him. He could practically feel the message in the silence between them:

_ Don’t try anything, punk. You’re gonna get yourself killed. _

Gritting his teeth, Steve nodded minutely and pretended not to be affected by the way Bucky relaxed at his side. The other man remained close enough to press up against his side like an anchor against Steve’s rising urge to rip the gun out of the nearest guard’s hands and make them pay for all the death they’d caused. The poison itching beneath his skin made him edgy and irritable enough that his temper was barely under control.

Until the damn chip was out of his neck fighting would be useless. He needed to find a way to remove or deactivate the chips without triggering whatever security measures they had in place that had killed the last contestant. Then it would just be a matter of waiting for the guards to make a mistake.

No one could stand a chance against Captain America in a rage--especially if he had the Winter Soldier on his side. 

Thoughts on whether or not Bucky could actually be trusted was pushed aside when the guard at his back nudged him to get moving. He felt the heavy metal of a mag cuff slide into place against both of his wrists at the same time a low whine of an EMP warned him that Bucky was being similarly detained. The drones were still circling the successful teams, pointedly ignoring the man sitting alone on the platform’s edge. Somewhere above them the announcer’s voice continued to rattle on about the next challenge.

“Will the Captain and the Soldier be enough to finally defeat our reigning champions?” Steve glanced over towards Belladonna and Hemlock in time to see them sneer, angling their bodies towards the cameras closest to them. “Or will they join Vice and the rest of the disqualified contestants?”

The guard at his back yanked at the mag cuffs binding his arms behind his back suddenly enough that Steve nearly stumbled. He risked a glance back at the man standing alone on the platform where his partner had fallen. Another guard stepped forward with his gun slowly raising just as Steve and Bucky were pushed through a set of doors into the building.

The sound of a gunshot still carried easily over the distance.

* * *

By the time the doors to his cell snapped closed behind him, Steve’s mind had gone painfully blank.

_ Shock _ , he imagined Sam’s voice muttered in his mind.  _ Even asshole super soldiers can only take so much stress before they shut down. You’ve been due for a breakdown for a while. _

The mag cuffs made a loud clang when they fell to the floor and Steve let his arms swing forward into a more natural position absently. His mind felt slow and distant as he surveyed the small cell and cataloged any changes. There were two trays of food set on the table in a mockery of hospitality that matched the pair of cots against the wall. He supposed that meant they didn’t expect any fighting between the two of them despite their pasts.

Distantly he noted Bucky moving past him toward the food, but he didn’t bother. His stomach felt like it was rolling in fits and jerks. All he could think about was the defeat in every line of Tempest’s body as he waited for the death the guards would mete out. Like he knew running was useless. Like he was hoping for the end to come quickly.

Had he cared for his partner?

Had he hoped to return home one day?

This mockery of a competition had cost them everything. It felt too much like the war he’d thought he’d escaped when he’d awakened in the future. The violence was impersonal, uncaring of the victims. It stank of the same kind of malice that could send people into gas chambers and mass graves--only this time it was for a difference in their blood instead of their beliefs.

The room was cold, he realized with a shiver. Cold like the ice he’d been trapped inside for far too long while the world passed him by. He was trapped. Trapped until they had a new battle for him to fight. A toy soldier left on a shelf.

A warm hand on the back of his neck made him flinch and jerk out of his thoughts back into the present. Pale blue eyes watched him warily with a painful kind of understanding lurking in their shadows.

“Don’t give up on me now, Rogers. This ain’t the end of the line.”

Steve stared at him a little desperately. “How can you stand it? How do you--how are you not--” His voice cracked dangerously, begging for some kind of reason for the steady reassurance in Bucky’s eyes.

The Winter Soldier was supposed to be a killer, the Fist of Hydra. Why should he offer even a moment of sympathy to the very symbol of SHIELD?

Despite what had happened on the course today, it was only weeks ago that the Winter Soldier had been sent to kill him. The Soldier was still being hunted by the same team Steve had trained and led before being sent to find the source of these murders. After--if there was an after--they would be enemies once again. 

Oblivious to Steve’s internal debate, the other man made a painful attempt at a casual smile. “I guess I’ve had more practice than you at being helpless.”

Steve made a rough sound and looked at the ground. His eidetic memory felt like a curse with the results of years of torture and brainwashing standing in front of him. Trying to  _ comfort _ him-- _ Christ _ , this was fucked up.

There was a brief hum of a motor somewhere behind the wall and both men flinched at the sound. Without a word, they shifted to flank one another as they turned in time to watch the reinforced glass seal the room closed. Steve’s fists clenched at his sides at the reminder that they were trapped here like mice in a cage and, judging by Bucky’s low curse, he agreed. He wondered if this was when they were supposed to pretend to rest and eat their rations like good little soldiers. 

Before either of them could make a move, the rhythmic tapping of high heeled shoes echoed down the corridor they’d entered the room from. For a wild moment, Steve could only think of the way Pepper could make Tony Stark run for cover at the sound when he was days into one of his sprees in the workshop. 

But it wasn’t Pepper Potts who slowly came into focus from behind the glass to smile coyly at the men on the other side.

She was tall and dressed in a way that seemed jarringly out of place against the backdrop of their cell. A sharp pencil skirt showed off shapely legs ending in a pair of heels that experience with Pepper and Natasha told him were worth an obscene amount of money. A simple navy blue turtleneck emphasized her narrow waist and petite stature. Her face was equally out of place in this horrific game--all sweet curves and big brown eyes that were highlighted by warm auburn hair arranged artfully off her nape. 

It wasn’t until you looked past the thin veneer of beauty to the menace beneath that you saw the truth of their visitor.

Steve glanced over at Bucky in time to see his lips turn down into a flat line. Part of him was tempted to angle his body in front of the other soldier, but he didn’t want to risk painting a target on bigger Bucky’s back. 

“So nice to finally meet you face to face, Captain,” the woman said in a voice that was wine dark and sinuous as a snake. “You can call me Maeve.”

“Yes, it’s always a delight to face someone who is responsible for kidnapping and murdering countless people,” Steve drawled, proud of the sharp bite in his voice. Tony would be proud.

Maeve’s expression shuttered into the kind of neutral palette that politicians seemed to perfect. “Mutants aren’t human,” she said flatly, “and neither are you, Captain.”

“Is that how you justify all this?” Steve gestured to the windowless cell around him and the mag cuffs lying discarded on the ground, “By claiming that you’re somehow better than the people you’ve been tormenting?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Captain. I’m only giving the people what they want.”

Bucky stepped forward, all menace and gleaming metal. “You’ve been toying with us--trying to force us to participate in your damned competition.”

Maeve’s smile was as cruel as it was dismissive. “Ah, my sweet Winter Soldier...you’d know all about being someone else’s toy, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Steve bit out.

“I have to admit I’m a little surprised that you two are getting along so well--of course, the viewers are just eating it up.” The look she leveled at them made Steve feel cold and nauseous. “I expected you to kill each other after your fight on the Helicarrier. It was  _ such _ good television.”

She pressed her fingers against the glass with a near-manic smile. “I only wish I’d thought of it first.”   
  


Steve shifted his weight in an attempt to settle some of the anger roiling beneath his skin. “So that’s what this is, then? Some kind of sick game for you?”

“Well, me and a few thousand of my closest followers.” Maeve’s smile was little more than a baring of teeth now. “Turns out, some people pay top dollar to watch all manner of exciting things--the bloodier the better.”

“People... _ pay _ you for this?” The horror in his voice made it crack dangerously. “They--they’re watching this?”

“Watching and voting for their favorites of course,” she chuckled and ran a cursory eye over the two of them. “I’ll admit I had hoped they’d like the two of you. You were  _ not _ an easy partnership to create. It really was brilliant.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I first got the idea after Project Insight, of course. Seeing two super soldiers duke it out even in the shaky found footage was particularly thrilling and our viewers wanted more. It was practically child’s play to find our poor little Winter Soldier stumbling around New York, looking for something he can’t even remember anymore.” She smirked at Bucky who was ashen beneath the halogen lighting. “Hydra was probably grateful I even offered them something for a broken assassin when their whole organization was going up in smoke.”

“Y--you bought me?” Bucky breathed and the emptiness in his voice made Steve’s hands clench at his sides.

Maeve eyed him with a slightly curled lip, her voice cruelly soft. “You didn’t really think Hydra would keep a broken asset around, did you? You should be glad they didn’t just put you down like the dog you are.”

This time the growl that rumbled out of Steve’s chest was enough to drag her attention back to the blonde.

“Finding you was a little more difficult, but I knew I couldn’t let down my viewers. The Soldier alone was fascinating, but what they really wanted--what they  _ needed-- _ to see was a matched set.” She trailed her hand along the glass like she could reach out and stroke them like a faithful pet. Beside him, Bucky was barely breathing.

A sick thought occurred to Steve then. “You let us find the bodies of the dead contestants.”

“Very good, Captain,” she purred, “I’m glad to see you aren’t just a pretty face.”

“So--so all of this,  _ all _ of those victims, were just a  _ game _ to you?”

“It isn’t just a game, my dear Captain,” she said with the same devotion of a sinner at the feet of their god. “It is the beginning of  _ everything _ . Every member of my audience has been carefully selected and carefully vetted to ensure our little secret society remains exactly that--a secret. They come to me for the kind of entertainment they can’t get anywhere else and I provide it...for a fee, of course. I even let them choose what will happen in the competition.”

Steve took a breath to try to fight back the urge to scream. “Why are you telling us this?”

Maeve shifted her weight, looking as though she were truly considering it. “Maybe I just enjoy knowing I’ve won,” she said simply. “I’ve spent a tremendous amount of time and effort building my empire large enough to withstand even the might of the Avengers and now I’m enjoying watching it all play out.”

“They’ll stop you.  _ I’ll _ stop you.”

She laughed. “By all means, Captain, declare war on my organization. Declare war on me--it won’t do a damn thing to save you at this point.”

Steve took an aggressive step closer to the glass separating the two of them and relished the flicker of fear that darted through her eyes. “Do your worst.”

“And I hope that you’ll do your best, Captain,” Maeve said with a slow smirk, “because the longer you live, the more money I’ll make.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments!


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